


Coddling

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli and Kíli mess around when they should be sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coddling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re in the middle of friends and family alike, tight at the center of a circle of dwarves, all bundled up in cloaks and trying to sleep on hard moss and dirt. The sprinkling of trees is a good shelter in case it starts to rain again, and also to keep them out of sight from any foul creatures that may lie behind. But there aren’t enough trees to shield them from one another, and Fíli mumbles below his breath, “We shouldn’t do that here.”

“But I want to,” Kíli purrs, like that’s reason enough. Everyone knows they’re close; no one questions them lying right beside one another, so near that they may as well be under the same blankets. Fíli knows he should roll over right now to combat the temptation, but Thorin lies behind him, and he doesn’t know if he can face his uncle like this, with the thoughts already in his head. All the other dwarves and hobbit and wizard—except Balin, off on lookout—should be asleep, but if they aren’t, Fíli couldn’t face the knowledge in Thorin’s eyes. 

It’s shameful to love one’s own brother, worse when that brother squirms closer to you in the dead of night, slips one hand below your cloak and up inside your tunic. Kíli’s careful fingers, so soft and _delicate_ for their kind, scratch through the rough fur at the bottom of Fíli’s stomach. Kíli, devil that he is, shifts to rub one knee along Fíli’s, murmuring in a hushed, too-erotic whisper, “I _want_ you, Fíli. Don’t you want me?”

 _Always._ Fíli can’t remember a time when he didn’t want Kíli. Even when they were smaller, they were inseparable, and now that they’re grown and out in the lonely, wide world, Fíli wants Kíli every minute of every day. He shifts his own traitorous hand across the thin distance between them and uncurls his fingers around Kíli’s chin, petting through the dark stubble. Kíli shivers under the touch and dips to kiss Fíli’s thumb, before sucking it naughtily into his mouth. He suckles on the tip and looks at Fíli through long lashes over flushed cheeks, while his evil fingers dig their way below the hem of Fíli’s trousers. 

Fíli wants to roll them over desperately, put his weight right on top of his brother to crush his pretty lover right into the harsh ground. Kíli always looks particularly beautiful in the woods, surrounded by the lush green unaccustomed to their stone homes, dark hair fanned out elegantly through the crushed grass. But they certainly can’t hump one another here, and Fíli forces himself not to moan and arch into Kíli’s hand. Instead, he moves the arm he was using for a pillow out from under him. Kíli’s free hand lifts to cup Fíli’s cheek and pet through the braided strings of his beard. 

When Kíli does finally release Fíli’s thumb, it’s only to bring his mouth to Fíli’s. Fíli lets it happen, because he’s going to moan anyway, and at least this way Kíli’s throat can swallow and muffle it. His soft lips are slightly cracked here and there, chapped in the dry air of their journey; sometimes it feels odd to be above ground for any real length of time. This is still new to them. Fíli loves Kíli’s mouth all the same. It tastes like the raw meat of their earlier meal and the slight musk of going too long without water, but it feels _right_ and so warm. The air is too cool, but Kíli makes Fíli _burn_.

Kíli runs his hand around inside Fíli’s trousers, palms following the inward curves of his thighs, tangling in dark hair to stroke and touch and feel. Kíli fondly pets his heavy balls, tugs them once to make a gasp spill out of Fíli’s lips and into his, then wraps those talented fingers tight around Fíli’s shaft. 

Fíli can’t hold back anymore. He’s impressed he lasted as long as he did. He bites into Kíli’s bottom lip with a hungry fervor and shoves his hand into Kíli’s trousers, going straight for Kíli’s thick cock. As soon as his fingers are around it, it pulses pleasantly against his palm, hard and growing harder by the second, arching back against his wrist. He gives Kíli a cruel twist and then a luxurious stroke before Kíli returns the favour, their kisses now stifling gasps and full of teeth and tongue. 

They have time, in a sense; Balin’s watch only just begun, and there’s no other reason to rouse the party at such a late hour, but in another sense, there’s no time at all. The others could wake at any second, aroused by the needy noises and stifled pleas and rolling hips. Fíli is trying to devour Kíli’s mouth, one leg hiking up over Kíli’s, body trying to grind them together as they pump each others’ cocks to a wild rhythm. Fíli wants to talk, wants to brush Kíli’s chestnut hair behind his ears and tell him he’s lovely and wonderful and Fíli’s been wanting to do this ever since they first left Master Bilbo’s home: the last place they were able to sleep in a separate room, alone. But freeing his mouth is impossible and dangerous, so all he does is kiss and kiss and touch and wish that there weren’t so many awful layers of clothes between them. 

When Kíli stops kissing him, Fíli thinks he’ll go mad. He tries to tug Kíli’s head back into place, but Kíli only ducks it to burry into the crux of Fíli’s neck and shoulder. Kíli nuzzles into him, holds tight with one free hand to his chest, and jerks wildly in his palm. Fíli’s cock is in bliss; his brother knows just how to touch him best. He can feel the fire building in him, and he litters Kíli’s forehead with kisses, trying desperately not to speak his love. 

It’s made harder when Kíli bites into his shoulder, just below his tunic. Kíli stiffens in his hands, then jerks and spills, seed dribbling into his fingers as he moves to stifle the head. The feeling of his brother’s juices drenching his hand is what sends him over the edge, too, and the orgasm rips through him with sudden force. It leaves him quivering in its wake, mind blanked out as he bursts in Kíli’s palm. For a moment, his vision is blurred and his head is dizzy, and all he can know is the feeling of Kíli’s panted breath against his throat.

But eventually, Kíli pulls away, and they both have to remove their hands, wiping off on the grass and their clothes. The one advantage to this long journey is that they’re all so used to smelling so bad that no one will notice a little extra musk.

They snuggle into one another in tandem, now too satiated to bother if they’re caught for coddling one another. The real crime has passed. Fíli’s skin is all boiling under his skin, but the only cure seems to be pressing as tightly to Kíli as possible. Kíli sighs, pleased and perfect.

Then a hand slaps Fíli’s back, and Thorin’s hushed voice tells them, “Be quiet, you two.”

Blushing hard, Fíli mutters back, “Sorry.” He looks at Kíli, both of them equally horrified and nervous and still unable to feel any real regret.

There’s also the urge to cover their mouths and giggle like naughty children, but they settle instead for nuzzling into one another and trying to sleep, two halves welded back into a whole.


End file.
